


show you the shape i'm in

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Coming of Age, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Genderswap, Light BDSM, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-04-25 21:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14387736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: Mattie Murdock—who by all accounts up until this point and by her own admission has been very Catholic and very heterosexual—goes to college and, two months later, kisses a girl and cuts all her hair off—shaved on one side, kind of floppy on the other. She makes Foggy go thrift store shopping with her and ends up with a lot of tight jeans and men’s shirts and some crop tops that Foggy might’ve slipped in when Matt wasn’t looking because—well, because.She wears loose tank tops that don’t hide her secret, terrifying muscles and pulls off not wearing makeup like it’s her fucking job.Essentially, she went from looking like a beautiful, pious young lady to looking like a mega hot dyke and it’s driving Foggy completely insane.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this may or may not become the lesbian version of "giving it up"

Mattie Murdock—who by all accounts up until this point and by her own admission has been very Catholic and very heterosexual—goes to college and, two months later, kisses a girl and cuts all her hair off—shaved on one side, kind of floppy on the other. She makes Foggy go thrift store shopping with her and ends up with a lot of tight jeans and men’s shirts and some crop tops that Foggy might’ve slipped in when Matt wasn’t looking because—well,  _because._

She wears loose tank tops that don’t hide her secret, terrifying muscles and pulls off not wearing makeup like it’s her fucking  _job_.

Essentially, she went from looking like a beautiful, pious young lady to looking like a mega hot dyke and it’s driving Foggy completely insane.

“I want a tattoo,” Matt says, right after she wakes up and climbs into Foggy’s bed while Foggy’s still sprawled out under her sheets. Matt looks sleep-ruffled and happy in a sports bra and a pair of boxers—it’s Saturday, and Foggy hopes that she can keep her here for a few hours, at least.

“Will the rebellion never cease, Murdock?” she asks, laughing when Matt collapses partially on top of her, resting her head on Foggy’s thigh.

“ _You_  have one,” Matt says, poking gently at Foggy’s upper hip, where she got a generic flower tattoo from the flash sheets off the wall of the closest tattoo parlor the day after she turned eighteen. “Are you rebellious?”

“I’m  _so_ rebellious,” Foggy says, dropping her hand down to brush over Matt’s hair, mostly as an excuse to trace fingers lightly over the freshly shaven part, just a little prickly now. “What do you want to get? Please tell me it’s a crucifix. I would put money on it.”

“I was thinking—boxing gloves, maybe,” Matt says, casually even though her voice goes kind of hesitant, kind of soft. Mattie’s never exactly been an open book about her past, but she’s told Foggy some things and Foggy filled in the rest from what she’d heard around the neighborhood. People stopped talking about Battlin’ Jack but, sure as hell, nobody forgot him.

“I like that,” Foggy says. “It’s fitting.”

Matt’s quiet for a few moments before she pushes up to wrap her arms around Foggy’s waist and rest her cheek on the swell of her stomach instead. Foggy still feels self-conscious whenever anyone even touches her stomach, but Matt looks content whenever she does it and Matt doesn’t look content all that often.

She probably should have cut off all the cuddling when she realized just how far gone she is for Matt, but Matt went from kind of jumpy and evasive to letting out her touch hungry urges on a variety of hot girls at parties—but  _especially_  on Foggy, when they’re alone. Foggy was a big part of getting her there. And, also, frankly, Foggy doesn’t  _want_  to stop, because having Matt in her bed is like a dream come very, very close to true.

“Can we go today?” Matt asks, around a yawn, rubbing her cheek against Foggy.

“You got money?” Foggy asks.

“Some from my loans, still,” Matt says. “I shouldn’t use it, but I want to.”

“Good enough for me,” Foggy says, sitting up enough to drag Matt into a full body contact hug while Matt grins and wraps her arms tight around Foggy to hug back.

“You have to hold my hand,” she says, close to Foggy’s ear, before she climbs off of her and stretches out with another yawn.

Foggy says, “Like you’ll even need me to,” and files away the faintly pleased look that Matt gets on her face before she turns around to look through her clothes, pulling out a soft flannel shirt that’s just big enough for Foggy to steal sometimes.

Foggy’s surprised when Matt tosses it at her instead of putting it on.

“If you want,” Matt says, shrugging.

“I’m keeping it forever this time,” Foggy warns her.

“I don’t mind,” Matt says. “You make this happy noise every time you put it on, I–I like that more than keeping it to myself.” 

 _She loves me_ , Foggy thinks, but Foggy thinks that about every three days before she comes to her senses again. There’s no reason for it to be real this time, even with Matt training a hopeful smile in her direction. She’s got to stop getting her hopes up.

*

“There’s a place in the Kitchen that takes walk-ins,” she says, when Matt comes wandering back from her shower. “I need to visit my folks, anyway, if you don’t mind letting my mom feed you.”

“You want me to meet your parents?” Matt asks, and Foggy’s not sure if she’s pleased or confused, but she’s smiling when Foggy looks up and she’s—also in a towel. Just in a towel.

Foggy looks down immediately, hitting a few random keys on her laptop.

“Sure,” she says. “They’d probably like to meet you to confirm you’re not the kind of girl that’s gonna murder me in the night.”

“Or so you think,” Matt says.

She’s bent over looking through her dresser drawers so Foggy get a few of her ass in spandex boyshorts when she glances up again and attempts not to actually whimper. She’s not going to survive this year. It might be easier if Matt just murdered her.

“What should I wear?” Matt asks.

“Uhm, clothes,” Foggy says, laughing when Matt gives her a look. “Wear whatever you’d normally wear.”

“I’m meeting your parents,” Matt says, after a beat, pulling a face.

“Oh, in that case,” Foggy says. “What do you have in terms of evening wear?”

Matt throws a pair of basketball shorts at her face.

“I’ll try and find my pearls.”

*

Matt’s fidgety on the train ride over so Foggy takes her hand because she knows Matt will like it—and she does, angles a sweet smile at Foggy and squeezes her hand without saying anything. She doesn’t let go when they get to their stop, holds onto Foggy’s hand and her cane as they leave with the crowd and finally make it out into the open air again.

Matt takes a deep breath.

“Still smells terrible,” she says, contented and apparently fond, walking forward and taking Foggy’s arm when Foggy lets go of her hand, “but—less concentrated.”

Mattie is fiercely loyal to every aspect of New York and obstinately takes the subway even though she looks pinched and in pain the entire time, because she’s sensitive to a lot of things—smell, especially. She didn’t explain it but Foggy guessed it had to do with losing her eyesight.

Basically, being crammed into a car full of people with varying levels of personal hygiene isn’t great for her.

“C’mon, my mom’s waiting,” Foggy says, laughing. “She probably started baking cookies the second I called her, so the apartment’s gonna smell way more appealing than—street smells.”

The closer they get to Foggy’s parents’ place, the more shaky Matt looks, to the point that Foggy pulls her aside and shakes her shoulder gently.

“Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” Foggy says. Matt’s smile is brief but genuine.

“I don’t—interact with many parents,” she says, after a moment of consideration. “I don’t know the protocol, I guess.”

Foggy’s heart aches but quickly catches up to her head and her voice, which is steady when she says, “You know how you can charm your way through basically anything?”

Matt’s smirk lies somewhere between smug and bashful.

“I guess.”

“Well,” Foggy says, putting an arm around her shoulders and waiting for Matt to lean into it before she starts walking again. “You won’t even have to do that with my mom. She’s been prepared to love you since the second I told her about you.”

She glances over when Mattie doesn’t say anything to see that she’s kind of pink and looks—thrown, maybe.

“Is it okay that I said that?” Foggy asks, carefully, and Matt shakes her head like she’s clearing it.

“It’s fine,” she says, laughing. “I just—have issues.”

“ _You_?” Foggy asks. “Issues?”

Matt makes a faux-offended noise and knocks into her with her hip, sending them both off balance for a moment before Foggy brings her close to her side again. She wouldn’t say this out loud for fear of spooking Matt like the gorgeous deer she is, but—Foggy kind of thinks she belongs there.

*

“I should’ve worn a skirt,” Matt moans, as they’re climbing up the steps of their building.

“You own one skirt,” Foggy says, “and I’m going to throw it out when you aren’t expecting it, because the one time I saw you wear it, you looked like you were ready to go burrow into the _earth_.”

“Yeah, I want to do that a lot,” Matt says, sighing. She’s wearing tight black jeans and a soft grey sweater that Foggy gave her before her grand lesbian transformation even happened, because Matt didn’t really come to school with warm clothes and she’s always freezing during class.

Matt was supremely squirmy about it for a few days but now it basically lives in her backpack.

“You look great,” Foggy says, firmly, holding open the door for her. “You always look great.”

“So do you,” Matt says.

“Well, you would know, buddy,” Foggy says.

“I do,” Matt says. “I know how many people you’ve went out with.”

“That’s just because I was kind of a slut at the beginning of the semester,” Foggy says, laughing. “You don’t have to be hot if you’re just very willing.”

“Francis _Nelson_.”

Her mom’s made a game out of catching Foggy at her worst. She always wins it.

“Slut’s a positive thing now, ma,” Foggy says, smiling up at her mom who’s standing at the top of the first flight of stairs with a laundry basket on her hip and a fake frown. “I’m empowered.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” she says, sitting the basket down and walking down to wrap her arms around Foggy and press a kiss to her temple. “I’m buying you condoms.”

“I _have_ condoms.”

“I’m buying you _more_ condoms.”

“Christ, please stop talking about condoms when I’m trying to introduce you to my roommate,” Foggy says, laughing and leaning into Matt’s side, who looks surprised and nervous and amused all at once. “This is Mattie. I like her, please don’t scare her away.”

“It’s _wonderful_ to meet you, Mattie,” Foggy’s mom says. “Can I buy you condoms, too?”

“I—don’t actually need them, ma’am,” Matt says, and Foggy’s mom hesitates for half a second before she snorts and reaches up to ruffle Matt’s hair. Matt makes a soft unreadable noise but she grins helplessly wide.

“Of course. I’ll give you cookies, then,” her mom says. “They should be done soon—honey, why don’t you take the laundry downstairs and start it while I get to know Mattie more.”

Matt’s face is suddenly stricken, turning to give Foggy a _don’t you dare fucking leave me_ look, but Foggy’s got self-preservation instincts and her mom’s already carried the basket down four floors. She’s about to try to come up with something when she looks up to see that her mom has somehow spirited a very uncomfortable Matt away.

Foggy climbs up to grab the basket and get the load going as quickly as possible to make sure her mom doesn’t scare Matt away or maybe forcibly adopt her. She— _really_ doesn’t want Matt to be her sister.

*

Matt leaves the apartment with a plastic container full of cookies and a perplexed, overwhelmed smile, saying after they’re out the front door, “Your mom’s _really_ nice.”

“You sound surprised,” Foggy says.

“Well, she raised _you_. . .” Matt says, laughing when Foggy gasps, voice dropping lower. “No, I can—I can see why you’re so great.”

“Yeah, she might have had something to do with it,” Foggy says, stopping on the bottom step to hook her arm through Matt’s before they start down the sidewalk again. “You planning on sharing the cookies?”

“I don’t know,” Matt says, skeptically. “She said they were all for me.”

“Betrayal,” Foggy sighs. “Ready to go get a needle shoved into your arm thousands of times?”

“Ready,” Matt says, grinning, like she’s not scared at all. She probably isn’t. Mattie’s kind of stupid brave, sometimes.

The shop is two blocks away, so in no time they’re standing in a tiny cramped front room talking to a ridiculously cool looking lady with David Bowie’s _Aladdin San_ face tattooed on her forearm, along with a bunch of zombies and flowers.

After Matt’s filled out the form verifying that she won’t sue if she gets gangrene or something, she sits down next to Foggy on the well-worn leather couch by the front door and says, “I just have to talk to the artist when she’s done with her current appointment and—tattoo.”

“And tattoo,” Foggy agrees.

They sit quietly for a moment before Matt says, softly, “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Well, someone’s gotta hold your hand,” Foggy says.

Matt breathes out a soft laugh before she holds her hand out. Foggy takes it.

“Glad it’s you,” Matt says.

*

“Are people normally as obnoxiously stoic as she is?” Foggy asks, and Ananya, the tattoo artist who Foggy is sure they both fell in love with the moment they met her, laughs softly.

“Everyone’s different,” she says, still focused intently on Matt’s arm, “but she is _zen_ compared to the last guy I had in here.”

Matt’s face turned red the second that Ananya touched her to hold her arm in place—Foggy’s not jealous, she _gets it—_ and she’s still pretty pink when she smiles and asks, “Really?”

“He made a big deal out of being all gruff and tough,” Ananya says, lips tipped up, “and he started crying the second the needle touched him. It was pretty satisfying for me.”

Foggy laughs and squeezes Matt’s hand, leaning in to see the half-finished tattoo. Matt spent about half an hour talking to Ananya about it while she sketched something simple—a thin black outline on Matt’s bicep. Foggy confirmed that it’s perfect.

“Is it really not that painful for you?” she asks.

“I’ve had worse,” Matt says, then makes a face. “Uhm, I mean—”

“The accident?”

“Yeah,” she says, sighing. “The accident. I’ve got a good tolerance, anyway.”

Matt hisses softly and squirms in her seat in a way that’s— _interesting_.

“Stay still,” Ananya says, soothingly, and Matt nods enthusiastically.

Foggy can’t see her toes because Matt’s wearing combat boots but she suspects that they’re curling. Her tattoo experience wasn’t a toe curling one, but maybe because she was a little bit drunk on Smirnoff Ice and her tattoo artist was a large grizzled older man named Kevin.

Foggy wonders if it’s just because she’s getting hurt by a hot woman or because she’s getting hurt.

“And,” Ananya says, drawing out the word slowly, “We are done. Good job, kid.”

“Thanks,” Matt breathes, smiling. “Uhm, Fog?”

“It’s perfect,” Foggy says, leaning in closer. It’ll look better when it’s not tender and red, a little blood-smeared, but it’s perfect. Matt smiles grows into a grin, kind of reckless and so happy.

That’s perfect, too.

*

Foggy buys Matt pancakes for lunch at a diner nearby, since she just spent a chunk of money on permanently scarring her flesh, and Matt’s so amped up that she can’t stop moving in her seat—accidentally kicking Foggy under the table a few times, confirmed accident because Foggy said, “Are you attacking me or trying to play footsie, Murdock?”

And Matt said, “Neither, but that can change if you want.”

The flirting is a hazard.

“I’m taking your coffee,” Foggy says, amused when Matt just nods and pushes it towards her. “You don’t need the caffeine.”

“I think it’s adrenaline,” she says. “That was really cool.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, carefully. “It seemed like you really liked it.”

Matt looks like she’s about to agree before she raises her eyebrows instead.

“What do you mean by that?” she asks.

There’s a hint of an edge there, which normally means that Foggy should either tread lightly or trample on through. She’s curious enough that she decides to do the latter, saying, “I mean, the coolest woman I’ve ever met is holding you down and hurting you—I can see why you might be—y’know. . .compromised.”

“Compromised,” Matt echoes, with the faintest smile.

“I’m trying not to use the word _aroused_.”

Matt lets out a surprised laugh and immediately smothers it with a comically large mouthful of pancakes. Foggy can’t help but watch her face as she chews, how it goes from nervous to a little bit more relaxed, tilting her head towards Foggy after she swallows.

“I might have been into it,” she says, after a long moment. “Is that weird?”

“Being into pain?” Foggy asks.

“. . .yeah,” Matt says. “I guess.”

“I think it’s pretty mainstream,” Foggy says, feeling suddenly nervous. She’d expected Matt to deny it outright or at least be fairly squirrely about it, but Matt has been all about living her true and authentic self lately. Even if her true and authentic self might be kind of a kinky weirdo. “There’s actually a club on campus.”

“A _club_?”

“Yeah, I have a previous one night stand and current friend who’s part of it,” Foggy says. “He says they have, like, workshops and discussion groups and stuff about BDSM? It’s educational. And kinky, I guess.”

“Weird,” Matt says. A long moment paces before she adds, quietly, “Would you go with me?”

Foggy slides Matt’s coffee back to her. She was curious about it, too, even though she wasn’t sure she was into it—she knows she’s not into pain and she doesn’t think she’d like getting tied up, but—well, watching Matt get compromised by getting a tattoo definitely compromised her, too.

“Absolutely, buddy.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Knots are impossible,” Matt says, sighing and throwing a tangled mess in Foggy’s direction. They’re both sitting on their own beds, cross-legged, practicing the knots they’ve learned so far in the group that meets for a few hours every other Saturday in a study room at the library.

“This is really bringing a fun sexual context to my Girl Scout skills,” Foggy says, happily.

“I always feel this stupid obligation to be good at everything,” Matt says, pushing the bundle of rope in front of her onto the floor and tossing herself onto her back, voice going a little self-deprecating, “so nobody can be, like—oh, she can’t—tie someone to a bed because she’s blind.”

“Well, do you _want_ to tie someone?” Foggy asks. “Or do you want to be tied?”

“I—well, definitely the second one—I think, at least,” Matt says, “but do I have to pick a team?”

“I don’t know, I guess we’ll see when we get our sexual deviant membership cards,” Foggy says. “Head’s up, I’m throwing my rope at you so you can feel the knots.”

The rope lands on Matt’s stomach and she picks it up and runs her fingers over it lazily.

“Hey, Fog?” she asks, after a few minutes of silence while Foggy was checking out the diagrams for another knot, one that held up well under movement but was easy to get out of.

“Would you—practice it on me?” Matt asks, like she’s been trying to find the right words.

Foggy’s pretty sure her entire nervous system shuts down for a long moment. She doesn’t have the right words, either— _yes_ , obviously, _yes, I’ll do weird shit with you_ , but there’s another part that knows that getting Matt all vulnerable and sweet is going to make the fact that Foggy’s breathless over her approximately all of the time even worse.

“Yeah,” she says, voice shaking and mostly without the consent of her better senses. “Sure, Mattie.”

Matt sits up and smiles at her.

“I thought you would, but I wasn’t sure,” she says, happily.

“I’ll definitely do it,” Foggy says, “but I’ve gotta raise a question in case you’ve forgotten how appealing you are again. There’s, like, a gaggle of queer girls in that group—why don’t you just find someone to hook up with?”

“I trust you?” Matt says, with a wobbly smile—like it’s giving her more trouble than asking about being Foggy’s bondage model. “I don’t trust that many people. I guess I want to try it out with someone who makes me feel—safe.”

“. . .okay, I’m hugging you,” Foggy says, blinking back actual tears as she gets up and crosses the room to drag Matt into a rough hug, shaking her gently. “I’m totally honored, Mattie Murdock.”

“Okay, geez,” Matt says, laughing, pushing at Foggy a little before she immediately melts into her arms.

They hold each other for a while before Matt sits up, mouth doing something funny before she reaches up a hand to touch Foggy’s face and press a light kiss to her cheek.

“Thanks,” she says, softly, and Foggy—yeah, she’s breathless.

“Thanks for being my test dummy,” Foggy says, trying not to think too hard about Matt’s lips on her skin and failing.

“There’s got to be a nicer way to say that,” Matt says, smiling at her when they pull apart.

“I don’t think so,” Foggy says, airily. “My pretty, pretty test dummy.”

“Well, I got pretty, at least,” Matt says, moving in to squeeze Foggy one more time before she lets go of her and gets to her feet. “I’m going to go for a run, I think—I’ve been sitting too long. Wanna come with?”

“Oh, Mattie,” Foggy says, stretching out on Matt’s bed and sighing happily. “It’s cute that you think I’d ever consider running.”

Matt laughs, already on her knees feeling under her bed for her running shoes.

“You stick with your principles,” she says. “I respect that, Nelson.”

*

As they’re walking back from a shared class, Matt very confidently asks her if she wants to order pizza on Friday night—to stay in and drink beer and her voice only fumbles when she says, “And—practice?”

“Practice?” Foggy repeats, making a face before it dawns on her what she means, which makes her make an entirely different face. “ _Oh_. Yeah, sounds good.”

“Okay,” Matt says, nodding before she ducks her head and smiles. “I’ll get the pizza.”

“I’ll get the beer,” Foggy says.

Matt leaves halfway to the dorm to meet with her study group, leaving Foggy to walk back alone, thinking about tying Matt’s arms behind her back, about spreading her legs and tying them to either side of her shitty twin bed and climbing between them to pull down her shorts and—whoa, Nelly.

She’s been watching porn as a reference but she should probably stick to the nice, clinical guides so she’s not overcome with lust or anything.

She’s genuinely worried about the lust.

*

Friday night and Foggy is shaking just a little bit; her anxiety is normally saved for tests and trying to hit on people in public places but it’s present in her stomach right now, in trembling fingers, a tight voice. Matt’s nervous, too, though—she’s worse at hiding it than Foggy is because she gets twitchy and laughs too loud and has a thousand tells.

Beer helps, though. That’s, like, the tagline to Foggy’s college career in general.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks, shaking Matt’s knee gently. They’re on the floor between their beds, pillows piled around them.

The pizza’s mostly gone, the beer’s entirely gone, and she thinks both of them are buzzed in a pleasant way.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “If—if you do.”

“I do,” Foggy says.

“Sounds like we’re getting married,” Matt says, huffing out a soft laugh.

“I mean,” Foggy says, full of joy at the opportunity, “We _are_ tying the knot.”

“ _Bad_ joke,” Matt says, shoving Foggy lightly, but she laughs anyway. She always laughs at Foggy’s jokes— _especially_ the bad ones.

“You love them,” she says, then takes a deep breath and lets it out sharply. “Okay, let’s do this—stand up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Matt says, dryly, then both of them freeze before either of them got to their feet.

“Uhm,” Foggy says. “That’s—”

“I was joking, but—”

“Oh, I know, it’s just—”

“I liked it,” Matt says, firmly, distinctly pink.

“I liked it, too,” Foggy echoes, smiling. “Do you want to use that? For—practicing?”

“Yeah, I do,” Matt says. “Should I—”

“Stand up,” Foggy says.

Matt does and stands sweet and still with her arms at her side, saying, softly, “Yes, ma’am.”

Foggy doesn’t say _holy shit_ but it’s a close call. She should probably keep how much something as small as that affected her pretty close to her chest, because she doesn’t know what she’ll be feeling when Matt’s restrained, when Matt is on her _knees_. If Foggy gets that.

It hits her right in the heart, though, because Matt’s maybe the least submissive person that she knows, probably because she’s had to deal with people telling her what she can’t do her whole life and has stubbornly and viciously proven them all wrong. But she’ll give Foggy that smile and listen to her and call her _ma’am_ and Foggy knows that she’s the only one that gets that.

For now, at least—until Matt finds whoever she’s practicing for.

“How do you want me to do this?” Foggy asks, standing up and watching Matt, who shifts on her feet and has gone all the way from pink to red. She’s wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top, which should probably be comfortable, and most of her nervousness seems to have been replaced by eagerness.

“You choose,” Matt says, immediately. “Please.”

“Okay,” Foggy says. “Stay there.”

Matt nods silently and Foggy watches her for a moment more, how she breathes in through her nose and out her mouth slowly and clenches her fists. Standing still is hard for her.

Foggy gets the rope from the top of her dresser and holds it while she stands in front of Matt again.

She told her to choose.

“On your knees,” she says, biting back the urge to make it a question, and Matt’s breath catches audibly before she immediately sinks down to kneel. “How do you feel?”

“Foggy,” Matt says, laughing. “Good—I feel good.”

“Good,” Foggy says, reaching down to run fingers through her hair, tracing slowly over the shaved part when she sees Matt’s face light up and go slack at the same time. “I should probably remind you that I have no idea what I’m doing, but—put your arms behind your back, okay?”

“It’s okay, I don’t know either,” Matt says, doing what Foggy told her, tipping her head back to smile at her when she says, “Oh, and—yes, ma’am.”

Foggy kneels behind her and moves Matt’s arms where she needs them to be, making a pleased noise when Matt holds them still for her. It takes her an incredibly long time, talking softly to Matt to keep her laughing and calm, before she’s—sort of got something together. It looks a little too tangled but Matt’s arms are tied behind her back and her ankles are tied together, both of them connected so she can hardly move at all.

“Alright,” Foggy says, slowly, standing up to see Matt looking shocked. “I think I did it.”

“I think you did,” Matt says, squirming and gasping softly at the feeling, voice frantic. “Foggy, Foggy—”

“Are you okay?” Foggy asks, immediately, bending down to touch Matt’s shoulder. “I can get you out, it’ll just take a—”

“ _No_ ,” Matt says. “No, just—will you touch me? Until I’m used to it? I didn’t know that I’d need it, but. . .”

Foggy doesn’t even think about it before she presses a hand to Matt’s warm cheek, breathing out shakily when Matt goes completely still, mouth dropping open.

“That okay?” Foggy asks.

Matt nods.

“Yes, ma’am,” she says, with a faint smile.

“Great,” Foggy says, cupping Matt’s other cheek before she bends down to press a kiss to her forehead—she’s pretty sure that kind of thing is in her jurisdiction, as long as no pants are coming off. “I’m just gonna do that face touching thing you pull every time you’re within 200 yards of a hot girl.”

“You sayin’ I’m hot?” Matt asks, raising her eyebrows.

“I call you hot all the time,” Foggy says, scoffing, patting Matt’s cheek before she rests her hands on her shoulders instead. “I called you hot five seconds after I met you. I’ll _probably_ call you hot again before the day is out.”

She moves her hands to Matt’s waist, squeezing it gently, and Matt’s eyes flutter shut.

“You’re a flirt,” she says.

“I’m a— _I’m_ a flirt?” Foggy asks, outraged. “Let me introduce you to Matt Murdock and her coy lesbian smirk.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt says, unconvincingly, before doing the exact smirk because she knows _exactly_ what Foggy’s talking about.

“ _That_ one,” she says. “It’s the _your boyfriend can’t make you scream like I can_ smirk.”

Matt laughs, tipping forward a little; Foggy automatically moves to keep her up, a hand on each arm. Up close, Matt looks happy and just a little bit shaky, like she’s unsure of herself. They should maybe test that.

“Are you okay if I let you go? I need to run to the bathroom,” she says.

Matt actually takes a moment to think about it.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “I think I’ll be fine.”

Foggy lets go of her and stands up, making sure that Matt actually looks fine—dazed and blushing and fully dressed and _tied up_ in the middle of their floor—before she says, “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

She can still hear Matt laughing halfway down the hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A VERY SHORT UPDATE BUT MORE TO COME SOON

Foggy ties Matt to her desk chair, rope around her waist, binding her arms behind her back.

They’re just kind of making shit up as they go.

“I’m not even sure how you’d have sex like this,” Foggy says, taking a step back to take her in—dressed in a white tanktop with no bra and loose sweatpants because she wants to kill Foggy, apparently, but also with a warm smile. They’ve done this a few times; neither of them are exactly _nervous_ anymore.

“I can still spread my legs,” Matt says, demonstrating.

“That’s—that’s true,” Foggy says, as calmly as she can. “Astute observation.”

“It _does_ kind of feel like you’re keeping me hostage for my family’s fortune, though,” Matt says, giggling.

“I can tie you to some railroad tracks next,” Foggy says, grinning when Matt laughs harder, stepping back in to ruffle her hair.

“That’s a little too kinky for me, I think,” Matt says, before she shifts around in the chair, making a curious noise. “Hey, do you think people would think it’s weird if you pushed me down the hallway? We all did desk chair racing earlier in the year but this is a new element.”

“Do you care if people think it’s weird?” Foggy asks.

“. . .good point,” Matt says, after a moment, smiling up at her.

Hostage desk chair races becomes a thing in their hall after that—Sam from two doors down is keeping track of scores on her whiteboard and nobody seems to think it’s strange that they have so much rope. There have been no major injuries.

College is really special.

*

“That girl _literally_ said she wanted to fuck you,” Foggy says, partly amused and partly concerned as Matt basically drags her out of the party, drunkenly navigating with her cane. “She’s the most assertive lesbian I’ve ever seen. She smelled like a damn _forest._ How did you pass that up?”

“I just haven’t felt like hooking up lately,” Matt says, shrugging.

“It’s because you’re having so much fun with the friendship bondage, right?” Foggy asks.

“Yeah, actually,” Matt says, without a hint of dryness. “That’s exactly why.”

It doesn’t sound like she’s joking but there’s basically no way she isn’t joking.

“Sure, Mattie,” she says.

Matt just makes an ambiguous _hmmph_ noise and says, “Want to tie me to a bed when we get back? It’s still early and we haven’t done that yet.”

“You’re not too drunk?”

“I had one beer,” Matt says, quieter when she adds, “Kind of for that reason.”

Foggy stops abruptly and Matt stumbles a little, tightening her grip on Foggy’s arm to stay upright.

“Matt,” Foggy says, slowly, feeling roughly like her heart is trying to climb out of her throat because—they flirt and Matt especially flirts like she just learned how, which means _very obviously,_ but this feels—this feels like _something._ “Were you being serious? About why you aren’t hooking up?”

Matt bites her lip and looks shady before she lets go of Foggy and paces a couple of steps away, like she’s getting her bearings, shoving her hands into the pockets of her tight jeans. She’s wearing a crop top, too. Foggy kept getting distracted by the way it showed more skin every time she moved, but she wasn’t the only one affected.

“I have the most fun when I’m with you, Fog,” Matt says, half-smiling.

It feels like it’s happening. The stupid daydreams and everything. Like Matt’s going to tell her that she loves her and sweep her off her feet—maybe literally. She’s so strong. And smart. And funny and sweet and _beautiful_ —

“I have fun with you, too, buddy,” she says.

“I’ve just been thinking about you,” Matt says, then winces. “I mean—about us, I guess?”

Okay, they’re going to get _married_. Matt would look so hot in a tux.

“Yeah?” Foggy asks, breathlessly.

“Everything we’ve been doing has been great,” Matt says, stepping closer again, smiling hopefully, “and I thought maybe you’d want to try being—friends with benefits, I guess? Like practicing but—more fun?”

Foggy’s stomach drops.

“Oh,” she says, shakily.

“Or you can pretend I didn’t say anything,” Matt says, laughing nervously and scuffing a foot against the sidewalk. “I kind of thought you might feel the same way, but—”

“I do, I totally do,” Foggy interrupts, quickly, not sure if it’s the right choice but it’s definitely _a choice_ that she is _making_ , “Sorry, I was just doing some—weird sex math in my head. Let’s do it.”

“Let’s do it,” Matt echoes. “Literally.”

“God, I’m rubbing off on you,” Foggy says, laughing.

“Hey, we can do that, too,” Matt says, grinning smugly when Foggy laughs harder and taking her hand when Foggy brushes their fingers together, squeezing it tightly. “Home?”

“Home,” Foggy agrees, feeling forty-seven conflicting emotions at once, all drowned out by the idea of Matt tied up and naked on her bed—that’s a singular emotion and that emotion is _holy fuck._

. . .holy _fuck_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while a bit loopy on new meds but here's a small pornographic update.

After ten minutes of shuffling around the room individually and silently trying to figure out how to start this, Matt steps into Foggy’s space and says, “I’ve kind of wanted to do this for a while,” before kissing her gently on the mouth.

“You have?” Foggy asks.

“Since I landed on you for spin the bottle,” Matt says, kissing her again and sliding a hand into Foggy’s hair, breath warm against her mouth when she continues, “It was a good preview, I think.”

That spin the bottle game changed Foggy’s life.

She’s too distracted to reply so she just kisses Matt back, runs her hands aimlessly over her body as they make out because she has an excuse now to get especially familiar with the curve of Matt’s hips, the muscles in her back, her _ass._

“Yeah,” Matt pants, when Foggy slips fingers into the back pockets of her jeans and digs them in gently. She drags Matt even closer, grazing her lower lip with her teeth.

“Do you wanna start making it weird?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” Matt whispers, nudging their noses together, and Foggy is pretty sure that this is the feeling that they write about in romance novels—like she isn’t _quivering_ but she could definitely start at any moment, even though she’s probably supposed to be the one who’s doing all the ravishing and stuff.

“Take off your clothes,” she says, firmly, letting go of Matt and stepping back.

Matt doesn’t even hesitate, pulling off her top to show the plain black bralette she has on underneath.

“Lemme see the abs,” Foggy says, happily, and Matt blushes and laughs and flexes. “Geez, Matty. Maybe you should be the one pushing _me_ around.”

“We can try that, too,” Matt says, pushing her jeans down and kicking them away so she’s standing in front of Foggy in just her underwear, moving uncomfortably before she takes a deep breath and stands up straight.

“Maybe, yeah,” Foggy says, looking her up and down and trying to say something charming, only managing to choke out, “ _Christ_ , look at you.”

“Language,” Matt murmurs, smiling down at her feet.

“Asks me for some kinky gay sex and then admonishes me for my language,” Foggy says, sighing and standing up again. “Catholics are so confusing.”

“Tell me about it,” Mattie says, breath catching when Foggy rests cautious fingers on her waist, sliding them down to feel smooth, warm skin and stop when they’re brushing black lace—cute boyshorts that Foggy’s never seen before. And Matt spends a _lot_ of time in her underwear.

“These new?” she asks, tugging gently at the waistband before she slides her fingers underneath it.

“Yeah,” Matt says, making a face. “I knew I was going to ask you and—I got Marci to take me shopping because I knew she’d know what you like.”

“Mattie,” Foggy says, laughing. “You must have hated every single second of that.”

“I mean. . .” Matt starts, before she shakes her head firmly. “Yeah, no, it was hell. We were there for three hours and I left with two pairs and a bra that clasps in the front.”

“Like the loose girls in high school wore,” Foggy says, amused, sliding her hands down Matt’s ass, pulling at the elastic on her underwear. “I _do_ like these but I’m gonna take them off you now.”

Matt just nods, letting out a shaky breathy noise when Foggy pulls them down far enough that they slip down around her ankles. She steps out of them and Foggy reaches down to pick them up and toss them on top of Matt’s dresser.

Foggy never had any doubt that Matt’s beautiful in—every single conceivable way, but seeing her like this is different, completely bare and waiting expectantly for Foggy to do something—to touch her, to tell her what to do. Muscles and pale skin and a dark scatter of hair between her legs and Foggy wants to—she wants— _god,_ she wants to do _everything._

She definitely just got about 25% gayer.

“. . .well?” Matt asks, holding her arms out a little, smiling nervously.

“Well,” Foggy echoes, laughing, stepping closer to kiss her again and press her body up against hers, hands roaming warm skin before she pushes up to say, “I know I tell you you’re hot a lot but—you’re _beautiful_ , Mattie.”

“Wow,” Matt says, softly—like she’s surprised.

“So beautiful,” Foggy murmurs, kissing Matt while she walks her backwards. “So sweet, honey.”

“Foggy,” Matt breathes.

“Be a good girl and stretch out on my bed for me, okay?” Foggy says.

Matt immediately blushes and turns to climb onto the bed and sprawl out on her back.

“Yes, ma’am,” she says.

*

“Stop laughing at me,” Foggy says, tugging at the last knot on the footboard. “I think you’re supposed to respect me or something.”

“I respect you,” Matt says, laughing. “It’s just that I’ve been lying here for five hours.”

“Five minutes at most,” Foggy says, glancing over at her alarm clock and swearing softly under her breath. “Fifteen—fifteen minutes _at most_. I’m just trying to make sure it doesn’t hurt you and you can get out of it and all the responsible shit.”

“That’s good,” Matt says, pulling at the ropes curiously and making a soft groaning noise. “I’m _so_ naked right now, though. I’m not sure you’re realizing that.”

Foggy sits up on her knees between Matt’s legs and lets out a shaky laugh.

“Oh, I’m realizing it,” she says, crawling forward to straddle her and kiss her, pushing it further when Matt whines softly and opens her mouth.

They kiss until Matt starts squirming underneath her, as much as she can, and says, “Foggy—Foggy, please.”

“Please what?” Foggy asks, sitting up to press a wet kiss to her forehead.

“Touch me,” Matt says, smiling pretty up at her, because she clearly knows what works for her. “Please, ma’am?”

Foggy hums softly before she slides down further between Matt’s legs, running hands up her thighs slowly. She thought this might be weird, hooking up with her best friend, transitioning frantic fantasies to reality, but—it feels like exactly what she wants to be doing when she pins Matt’s hips to the bed and asks, “Do you want my mouth on you, honey?”

She really likes calling Matt that.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Yes, please.”

“Good girl,” Foggy murmurs, low, sinking down between Matt’s legs so she can breathe close to her cunt.

Matt yelps softly when Foggy spreads her lips with her tongue and licks firmly over her clit, hips rolling up before Foggy keeps them pinned roughly. She makes the prettiest noises, gasps and babbles softly about how good it feels and Foggy Foggy _Foggy Foggy,_ almost shouting every time Foggy sucks on her clit.

Right when Matt’s gasping about how she’s close, Foggy sits up and wipes her face off and says, happily, “Not yet.”

“ _Mean_ ,” Matt says, but she sounds delighted.

Foggy teases her with her fingers and her mouth for as long as she can, until they’re both wet and Foggy’s resisting the urge to rub herself off against Matt’s thigh while she’s fingering her, until Matt begs without being told to—gasps of _please please please_ slurred and desperate as Foggy bites at her lower lip and presses two fingers to her clit.

When Matt comes, she cries out so loud that Foggy bursts out laughing and covers her mouth with one hand while she works her through it until Matt’s shuddering and whimpering and so fucking beautiful that Foggy can barely look at her without spontaneously combusting.

“Mmf,” Matt says, laughing against Foggy’s hand, grinning when Foggy moves it. “ _Jesus.”_

“Miss Murdock, that’s blasphemous,” Foggy says. “I must be good.”

“Understatement,” Matt says. “Can I get you off? I feel like I need to do it, like, five times to repay you for that.”

“One’s fine,” Foggy says. “Two if you’re feeling frisky—let me untie you.”

“ _No_ ,” Matt says, clearly more emphatically than she meant because she looks embarrassed when she adds, “I mean, I want to stay tied up. Could you maybe—ride my face?”

Foggy’s going to have a heart attack before this is all said and done.

“Yeah, Mattie,” she says, shakily. “I can do that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblring at tumblr](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com)
> 
> also, the getting embarrassingly turned on while getting tattooed by a hot girl thing is deeply autobiographical


End file.
